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Neither male answered that rhetorical question, both instinctively understanding that any answer they gave would be unwelcome and construed in the most negative manner.
“We will protect you,” Horas said instead.
“What’s to stop you from keeping me confined to a cell or beating me if I agree?” she asked, true fear showing in her eyes. It made Sarus’ two hearts constrict in pain that she would expect such maltreatment.
“Why do you think we would treat you like that?” Horas asked in a deceptively gentle tone. “Has someone been feeding you lies?”
“That Engineer Arrenji dude looked at me like I was already his property, hischattel. And I’ve already been informed that if I marry an Ahn’hudi male, then I become his property and no longer have any rights as a United States citizen.”
“Little flame, females are cherished among the Ahn’hudi—”
“That Arrenji didn’t seem inclined tocherishme.”
“Evangeline, would you judge all Ahn’hudi by one poor example?” Sarus asked.
Evangeline’s cheeks turned rosy. She took a deep breath and tried to explain, “I haven’t exactly met lots of your … er … people. How am I to know that you and Horas are what is normal and not the aberration? How am I to know that Arrenji is not typical?”
“You want to meet other males,” Sarus growled in cold fury. A low, staccato rumble emanated from the other male’s chest in warning.
“Yes … er … no … oh, I don’t know,” she said. “That’s the problem:I don’t know.And you’re asking me to agree to something without having the necessary information.”
Sarus had to admit to himself that she had a point. The pretty female had been kept woefully ignorant.
“Do you trust us?” Horas asked.
“The Ahn’hudi?”
“No, little flame, do you trust Sarus and me?”
She swallowed, paused as though silently debating her answer, then replied, “Yes.”
Horas nodded, one curt dip of his jaw. “Then know that we will never harm you. We desire nothing more than your happiness, pleasure, and good health.”
Sarus leaped on that statement and he stepped forward. “Ahn’hudi are devoted mates.”
Evangeline’s gaze flickered over the hard muscles lining his bare arms and abdomen and felt desire stir, because these males apparently did not understand the concept of wearing shirts for anything but formal occasions. The only time she had seen them wearing shirts was the meet-and-greet reception. Poppet, having had enough of being squished against his mistress’ body, squirmed and meowed. She lowered him to the floor and watched as he stalked off, tail low in visible sign of his disgruntled mood.
A flutter of movement beneath Horas’ kilt caught her eye.That wasn’t his tail.She took another step back and found herself blocked by a wall. He stepped toward her. Sarus took another step.They’re stalking me.
She looked to one side, then the other.No escape. Fear blossomed and she began to tremble. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
Sarus surged forward and circled her upper arm with his big hand. He did not squeeze; the hold was loose but unbreakable. Horas joined them a split second later and grasped her other arm. With his free hand, he stroked her hair.
“Calm yourself, Evangeline. We will not harm you.”
She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable grope, the pinch, the hard squeeze, and the feeling of violation. She’d fought against it before, knew the futility of resistance, knew the disappointment and discouragement that followed when the adults in authority dismissed her complaints.
“She’s terrified,” Horas muttered in dismay.
“Someone hurt her before she met us,” Sarus intuited and forced himself to quell the urge to kill something or someone. “If we ever discover who hurt our mate, I will kill him.”
Horas dipped his head and nuzzled the woman’s neck. She whimpered, the acrid stench of her terror burning his nostrils. He brushed his lips over the tender skin, forked tongue flicking out to detect the proper spot on a human that would best serve for the mating bite.
Sarus did the same on her other side. His mouth tingled with the flavor of his venom. His eyes met the other male’s and together they struck, sinking their fangs where their female’s slender neck curved into her shoulders.
Evangeline jolted in their hold, her body bucking and thrashing in impotent terror and sudden pain. After a few seconds, she felt the undulation of their tongues against her flesh and the working of their jaws as they pumped venom through their fangs. The sharp pain of the puncture wounds where their fangs penetrated her flesh eased into a sweet, sweet pleasure that began to spread from each shoulder. It slid, warm and heady, through her veins and soaked into bone and muscle, making her breasts feel full, heavy, and achy and her core throb with want. Her head lolled against the wall, but, immersed in the heady pleasure that swamped her senses, she didn’t feel the hard surface beneath her hair. Her eyelids fluttered shut as her hands latched onto muscular shoulders, fingers digging as deeply as they could.
This must be what heroin feels like.
